


Good Company

by RosieAnderson



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18424254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieAnderson/pseuds/RosieAnderson
Summary: Bucky thinks he's happy with his life, content with his solitude.Then he meets Steve, and everything goes to hell.(or, bodyguard Bucky realizes maybe he doesn't mind one constant person in his life to keep him company.)





	1. Don't Cry Over Spilt Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment, we love constructive criticism. Enjoy.

Bucky was never one for relationships.  Fucking was different, but relationships were never his strong suit.  It wasn’t that he had a troubled childhood that screwed up his ability to connect with people, no.  It just never worked out.  Bucky understood, he just wasn’t really boyfriend material; on-and-off security work matched with fights in a risky bare-knuckle boxing ring weren’t exactly the makings of a stable life.  Bucky was good at what he did, really good, and he didn’t plan on making any changed to a system that was working for him.  Being alone meant no responsibilities and more importantly, no connections.  No one to worry about whether or not him came home every night.  He wrote his will when he turned twenty-three, just getting into the dirty business of busting faces and beating the people who tried to kill whoever he was assigned to that particular day.  In the five years since starting, the only thing that had really changed in Bucky’s life was the size of his bank account.  He was more or less happy. About as happy as he expected to be.

Bucky liked to end his nights with a drink.  If he was on the job, he’d stick to a couple of beers.  After fights, it was beer and vodka shots, usually bought by the audience members who placed bets in his favor.  Bucky had a handle on his alcohol.  Beer was casual, vodka for numbness, rum to forget, and whiskey for pleasure.  Tonight was a night for pleasure, and Bucky was on his fourth whiskey neat.  The bar he chose was nothing fancy; dim lights, sticky floors, and loud music.  Sat at the bar, Bucky gazed out over the crowd, watching the small ticks and motions of the people who thought no one was watching them.  It was entertaining, and Bucky was always looking for entertainment.  Leaning back, he spotted a group of girls in skintight jeans and cropped tops stumble over to the bartender.  They were young, probably too young to be out at a seedy bar this late.  Their leader, a tall brunette, quickly assessed the group’s drink request and leaned across the bar.

“Can we get like, five shots of tequila?” She turned around and counted the group again. “Wait no, actually can I get seven?”

Bucky glanced over at the bartender, feeling slightly sorry for him.  College girls usually couldn’t handle their alcohol very well, and from the looks of this group, their night would probably end with at least one of them vomiting all over the bathroom floor. 

The girls eventually left after three more rounds, taking a considerable amount of noise with them.

“Hey man, can I get you another?” the bartender asked, gesturing to the now empty glass in Bucky’s hand.

“Yeah sure, why not.” Bucky smiled as bartender poured the drink, taking a minuet to examine the man’s face.  Bucky hadn’t paid too much attention to him over the course of the night.  He was fairly good looking, with a friendly smile and dark eyes.  He would do nicely.

“My name’s Will,” the bartender said, wiping down the bar.

“It’s nice to meet you Will.” Bucky held out his hand. “I’m Bucky.”

Will grinned, shaking his hand. “What brings you to this shit hole?”

Bucky sipped at the whiskey “Just passing through. On to better things tomorrow”

“Better things huh?” Will leaned over the bar. “I’ve got some pretty good things right here, if you’re up for it.”  He licked his lips and inched closer to Bucky. “But if you’ve got better things to do…” he trailed off, smirking.

“I think I can delay for a couple hours” Bucky said, watching the tip of Will’s tongue. “When do you –“

 Bucky jolts forward as a body slams up against his back, spilling what was left of the whiskey on the counter.

 “What the fuck-“ Bucky spins around and grabs the intrusion by the neck, tightening his grip as anger courses through him, glaring at the man currently grabbing at Bucky’s writs.  The man’s eyes are wide and panicked, face turning a brighter red as each second passes.

“I-I-I’m so sorry I tripped, I didn’t mean-“ he stammered, feet scrabbling to get a grip on the floor.

“Watch where you’re fucking going” Bucky growled, letting go of the man’s throat and turning back around to the bar. 

“I am so sorry.” The man’s voice is terrified, and Bucky feels a twinge of guilt. “Can I get you another drink?”

Bucky slowly turned around and took another look at him. “Whiskey.”

“I am really sorry.  I wasn’t watching where I was going and-“

Bucky shushed him.  “It’s fine. I overreacted.”  The man relaxed slightly, shifting on his feet. “Sit down” Bucky gestured to the empty stool next to him.  It was getting late, and the bar was nearly empty. “What’re you drinking?”

The man slouched onto the stool. “I’ll just stick with a beer” he grimaced. “I don’t need to fall into any more people tonight”

Bucky smiled slightly, glancing at Will. “I’ll cover both.” Will nodded grabbing a beer and more whiskey.

“Oh no don’t do that, you don’t have to-“ the man protested.

“I nearly suffocated you.” Bucky interrupted, noticing the red marks of his hand around the guy’s throat. “What’s your name?”

“Steve"

“Steve” Bucky repeated. “My name’s Bucky.” He held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Steve smiled. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Bucky spent the night at Will’s apartment and left in the morning with Will’s number in his phone.  Will was a simple man, and he fucked like one.  Nothing complicated, no questions after it was over, and no asking Bucky to stay longer. 

“If you’re ever around again, feel free to stop by” Will laid on his stomach, tuning to look at Bucky “I’ll never say no to getting fucked like that.”

Bucky offered Will a cigarette, smiling to himself. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”  He leaned his head back, bowling smoke into the air.

“Where you off to next?”

“Back home. Up north.” Bucky checked his phone. “I’ve got head out” He leaned over and slapped Will’s ass.

“Are you gonna call Steve?” Will questioned.

Bucky paused as he buttoned up his jeans. “Haven’t decided.” Bucky didn’t usually follow up on people he met.  That’s why people like Will were so good.

“Well, do what you want. Lock the door on the way out.” Will muttered as he settled deeper into his bed.

“See you around Will.” Bucky pulled on his jacket, cigarette hanging between his lips.

“Mmmm yep bye…” Will murmured, falling asleep as Bucky slipped out the door.

Bucky stared at Steve’s number in his phone as his leaned against his car, taking a last drag of his cigarette.  He thought about deleting the contact, but then he thought about Steve’s face when Bucky’s hand had tightened around his throat.  He remembered how his brown eyes had been so wide with fear, breath ragged as he struggled to breath, remembered the red creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. Fingers tightly holding on to Bucky’s hand, tight enough to leave little crescent moon marks.  Bucky sighed, dropping the cigarette and got into his car and turning the keys in the ignition.

“Get a grip, Barnes. Jesus” Bucky muttered to himself, pulling out of the parking lot and starting down the dimly lit road, “On to bigger and better things.”

Long, silent car rides are not usually good places to try and forget things, and this was Bucky’s current situation.  Four hours on the road had done nothing to make Bucky forget Steve, never mind help him decide what to do about him. He pulled into the apartment parking lot and cut the engine.  He grabbed his phone, scrolling through one missed message from his boss about a new job and one text from his manager about who he was fighting that night.  Fight nights were some of Bucky’s favorite nights.  He loved fighting and the power that came with it; nothing compared to feeling a man crumble beneath his fist, watching his opponent’s eyes as they slipped from consciousness.  It made him high, adrenaline coursing through his veins, panting one ragged breath after another.  Tonight would be no different, and Bucky looked forward to a sure-fire way to distract himself from Steve.  Briefly he wondered what Steve would think of his fights.  Whether he would watch from the sidelines petrified of what he saw.  Or maybe his breath would catch in his throat, arousal pricking at the base of his spine. 

Bucky shivered and zipped up his jacket, climbing out of the car. 

“Fuck it” Bucky unlocked his phone and quickly typed a message to Steve,

_Hey, it’s Bucky from the bar._

“Jesus Christ you are ridiculous” Bucky muttered, continuing to type.

_Sorry again for nearly breaking your neck last night._

Send.  What was he doing? Bucky stared down at his phone at the text.

“Sorry again for breaking your neck? Jesus Bucky what are you doing…” Sighing he walked up the steps to his apartment.

_Ding_

_No worries, it doesn’t look too bad._

Steve’s response lit up Bucky’s phone, and he smiled to himself.

_Oh really? It looked pretty red._

Bucky walked into his apartment and collapsed on his bed, his phone dinging again.

_It’s more sore than bruised. You’ve got a tight grip._

Damn. Bucky shifted on his bed, trying to get comfortable.  He knew he should feel bad, he shouldn’t be wondering where exactly the bruises on Steve’s neck bloomed against his pale skin.  Shouldn’t be wondering about what noises Steve might’ve made if he hadn’t been trying to apologize to Bucky.  Groaning, shifted again on the bed, annoyed at how quickly his cock took notice of the thoughts running through his mind.

_Yeah sorry about that.  If you’re ever up north, I’ll make it up to you_

Bucky locked his phone, not waiting for Steve to respond.  He had to meet his boss in five hours and be at the ring in fourteen, and he really needed to get some sleep.  Exhausted and slightly annoyed, Bucky reached down and slid his hand under the band of his boxers, wrapping his hand around his cock.  He groaned, rubbing a thumb over the tip and stroking himself slowly up and down. His hips jerked as he tightened his fist around his cock, feeling his heart beat get faster in time with the motions of his fist.  Letting out a low moan, Bucky’s mind jumped back to Steve.  Giving in, he imagined how loud Steve would whimper if Bucky gripped his throat with one hand and slowly stroked his cock with the other. 

“Fuck” Bucky panted, his cock twitching in his hand.  He wondered how Steve’s eyes would look as Bucky fucked him, dilating until black took over the vibrant green.  Bucky hoped he would be loud, hoped his mouth would fall open and he would whine as Bucky pounded into him, wanted to hear him scream his name until his voice was raw.

Bucky’s hips stuttered as he came, back arching, loudly moaning as his fist tightened around his length.  He laid on his bed for a minute, chest heaving in the cool air of the room.  Reaching over to grab a tissue from beside his bed, Bucky noticed Steve had messaged him back.

_I’m counting on it. You better make it worth my while._

“You have no idea, Stevie.  No idea”


	2. Friday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets an assignment that turns out to be fairly complicated

Bucky’s world tilted around him as he downed his twelfth shot of vodka, the liquor numbing his lips and leaving a burning trail his throat.  He grimaced, licking his lips to get the last drops of fire lingering there. The fight had gone well, with Bucky taking a fairly easy win, though the other fighter had gotten a few good punches in.  Bucky was definitely going to feel those later. 

“How ya’ feelin’ my boy! Ya’ done right good tonight!” Bucky turned from the bar to his manager, Pete, standing with a beaming smile on his face and a cigar held tight between his teeth.  Pete was a good guy.  He taught Bucky the ropes of fighting and made sure the fact that it was an illegal ring a small blip in Bucky’s radar when he was first starting out.  Now, fighting in this ring was far from the most illegal thing Bucky got up to on a day to day business.

 “Tha’ other brute caught ya’ with a few, didn’t he?” Bucky nodded, rotating his shoulder to emphasize the point.

 “It’s not going to feel nice in the morning, but that certainly will help the issue” Bucky nodded to the wad of cash in Pete’s hand.

 “Of course my boy! Don’t spend it all in one place.” Bucky winced as Pete clapped him on the shoulder before turning back to the throng of people filling the pub. 

Pocketing the money, Bucky turned back to the bar and motioned to the bartender for another shot.  He should probably take it a little easy given the beating his liver took in the ring, but Bucky was never one to let injuries slow him down.  The warm buzz of the alcohol encouraged his mind to drift, thinking about the fight and about the job he started tomorrow.  This time his client, or clients, were the secretary of a high-ranking politiBucky and a journalist photographer, a gig that Bucky had done a million times.  The photographer was new to the equation, but it wouldn’t upset much.  Plan routes, search rooms, scope out buildings, background check personnel, and driving escort.  The job was simple, and rarely went haywire.  He was meeting the client at 6:15 tomorrow morning and would be escorting them to a conference in Washington, D.C., making the trip a seven-hour drive from Bucky’s apartment in Columbus, Ohio.

Sighing, he checked his phone. 11:50.

“I’m gonna head out.  Have a good night” Bucky left a $100 on the counter, placing his glass on top, stretching as he stood up. “Keep the change”

The barman smiled and took the bill. “You too” he responded.

Focusing on the door, Bucky made his way out of the bar and onto the quiet street, deciding to walk home instead of wasting money on a taxi. He breathed in the chilly night air, lighting a cigarette as he strolled past closed shop windows and quiet houses.  As he walked, he ran over his list in his head. Glock 22, Sig Sauer P226, Colt M1911, ammunition, switchblade, duct tape, zip ties, first aid kit, Kevlar vest, spare dress shirt.  Bucky was methodical, prepared, never surprised, and efficient.  Routine is how Bucky got to where he was today, a twenty-eight-year-old who held the respect of mob bosses and powerful politiBuckys alike with enough money to retire by thirty-five.

Bucky tried to pack after getting back to his apartment, but quickly losing interest as the alcohol jumbled his brain.  Leaving the rest of his bags until the morning, Bucky collapsed on his bed and drifted off to sleep, the steady mantra of his list running through his head.

 

Bucky arrived at the secretary’s hotel room at six, Glock on his hip and Windsor knot in place.  Unlike some other men he had worked along-side in the past, Bucky preferred the polished look of a suit and tie.  The fact that he looked damn good was just a contributing factor.  Packing the secretary’s bags, whose name he learned was Laura Butler, he checked his watch. 6:30.

“Ma’am, we should get going.  I would prefer not to encounter any more traffic than we have to.” Bucky tapped his fingers, considering alternate routes to take to avoid the horrendous city traffic.  The photographer still hadn’t shown up, and the secretary showed no signs of leaving without him.   

“We’ll just wait a couple more minuets Mr. Barnes.  He’ll be here any second now” Laura said. “And please, call me Laura.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Of course, ma’am” Bucky shifted ever so slightly on his feet. If he took I-68 East he, could avoid the traffic on I-70 East, and it added only twenty minutes to the drive…

“Mrs. Butler, I’m so sorry I’m late! My taxi took a wrong turn, and then we had to go all the way back….” Bucky lifted his head as the voice trailed off. He knew that voice.

“Well, Mr. Rogers, at least you made it at all.” Laura frowned slightly.

“Oh, please call me Steve”

Bucky could feel his pulse quicken and he watch Steve turn towards him. What were the fucking chances.

“Oh my god, Bucky! What are you doing here?” Steve’ face broke out into a huge smile. “I thought you were still in Kentucky!”  His green eyes were bright, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice how good he looked, auburn curls askew and pale cheeks tinged pink from the cold morning air.

“Mr. Barnes is my security detail for the next week” Laura answered before Bucky could open his mouth.  He mentally scolded himself, suddenly remembering the traffic and the fact that they were now running twenty minutes behind schedule. 

“Ma’am, we should get going.” Bucky turned to Laura, gesturing to the car.

“Of course,” She slid into the back seat. “Steve, we can talk about details once we’re on the road.”  Steve nodded quickly and went to put his bags in the trunk.

“I’ve got it.” Bucky stopped Steve and slid the bags off his shoulder, noticing Steve tense slightly when Bucky grabbed his arm.

“Just get in.”

“It’s good to see you again, Bucky.” Steve’ smiled faltered as Bucky gave him a curt nod, but he got in the car all the same.  Taking a deep breath, Bucky centered himself before climbing into the driver’s seat.  This job was going to be a little more difficult than he expected.


	3. Seven Hours Is A Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a seven hour car ride. What did you think was going to happen?

They had been on the road for three hours, and there had barely been a second where Steve was not talking.  For the most part, Bucky listened as Steve chatted away with Laura about everything from his family and hometown, to their perspective on various political topics.  Bucky learned that Steve was born in Brooklyn, New York to Sarah and Joseph Rogers, their only child.  Steve double-majored in media studies and photography, hence the journalism gig.  He listened to folk and old country music but could chill to a few alternative rock bands if he was in the mood.  He had a German Shepard named Dodger and a cat named Millie, both of which were being taken care of at the moment by his neighbor, Pedro. At this point, Bucky could write a fucking autobiography about Steve purely from memory.  At hour four, Bucky wondered if it was worth it to shut Steve up by shoving his cock down his throat.  Bucky let out a harsh breath through his nose.  Now was not the time to assess that train of thought.

“Bucky, how did you say you got into this business?” Laura’s voice questioned him from the back seat. “You do seem very young, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

“I didn’t say how, and I don’t mind, ma’am.” Bucky quietly sighed. “It’s a long story, I’m not sure you want to hear all the gritty details, ma’am.”

“I want to hear.” Bucky looked in his rear-view mirror at Steve when he spoke, voice soft. He looked genuinely interested, and Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  People were always fascinated to hear how a twenty-three-year-old managed to fall into the world of private security.  Usually those people just wanted to get into Bucky’s pants, which he wasn’t opposed to.  But this, this was a situation Bucky wasn’t prepared for.  There was no ulterior motive in Steve’ eyes.  And how could there be?  They had three hours left of the drive, and a government fucking secretary was sat in the back seat. 

Bucky sighed again. “I started five years ago, when I was twenty-three” Bucky thought back.  In retrospect, five years wasn’t that long ago.  A lot can happen in five years. “I didn’t have a steady income,” Yeah, Bucky thought to himself, illegal boxing matches were never reliable. “I was at work one night, and a friend of mine, Pete, introduced me to my current boss, Mr. Lombardi.” Ricky Lombardi was one of the most well-known names in private security, taking care of everyone from politicians and celebrities, to the 1% who were rich enough to hire someone from his team. “Lombardi was looking for an extra hand for a security escort, and I had a firearms license.” Bucky shrugged.  “Five years later, here we are.”  It fell silent in the car, and Bucky shifted slightly, trying not to let the situation make him any more uncomfortably than it already was. 

“Well” Laura said, breaking the silence, “I’m very glad you’re here!” She laughed. “I’ve never even shot a gun, so I’m glad someone knows what they’re doing.”  Bucky clenched his jaw slightly, hoping guns would not become the new conversation.  The issue of gun control was a big one, and Bucky couldn’t afford to get on the bad side of anti-gun politicians.

“Have you every shot someone?” Steve’ voice broke through Bucky’s thoughts, and he glanced back to look at him.  Steve’ eyes were wide, and Bucky could sweat he could see a flush rising on his cheeks.

“Yes” Bucky carefully watched Steve’ face as he responded. “Only when I had to.”  Steve swallowed thickly, suddenly becoming very interested with the camera he held in his lap.

“Does that bother you?”

“No.” Steve looked back up, running his tongue across his bottom lip.  “I trust you.”

Shit. Bucky struggled to maintain his composure.  He could feel himself getting hard in his pants. For fuck’s sake, he was on a job.  It was completely ridiculous, he was not some hot-blooded teenager.  But all Bucky wanted to do was pull over, shove Steve against the hood of the car and fuck him so hard the two hours left of the drive would be agony.

“I could never shoot someone” Laura frowned, forcing Bucky to tear his eyes away from Steve, “There is always another option, in my opinion.  How far away are we?”

“Of course, ma’am.” Bucky glanced at the GPS, willing his cock to calm the fuck down. “We’ve got two hours left.” Bucky pushed down slightly harder on the gas, wanting nothing more than for the ride to be over. 

“So, Steve,” Laura turned her attention to the man next to her, “Tell me more about this project you’re working on.”  Steve blinked, looking at Laura.

“Yes of course.  I’m interviewing politicians about their views on climate change and the Paris Agreement…”

Bucky focused on the road in front of him, blocking out their conversation.  The job was only for a week, and Steve wouldn’t be with them every second.  He could get through this.  For Christ’s sake, he’d survived getting shot.  He could survive Steve fucking Rogers. 

The two hours left passed horribly slowly, not helped by Bucky checking the time every five minutes.  At long last, Bucky pulled up to the hotel in D.C.

“Thank god” Laura quickly got out of the car, looking around for a valet.  Bucky sat in the car and turned to face Steve.

“You didn’t tell me you were a journalist”

“You didn’t tell me you were a bodyguard.” Steve shot back, looking about as unsettled as Bucky felt.

“Personal security.” Bucky automatically corrected.  Steve huffed, raising an eyebrow.  Bucky pursed his lips, trying to decide what to say, when Laura rapped on his window, startling Steve.

“Mr. Barnes? My bags please.”

“We’ll talk later” Bucky said, looking back at Steve, before climbing out of the car.  His shoulder screamed at him as he picked up Laura’s many bags, after having been stuck in one position for so long.  Shaking his head slightly, he ran through the list of things he had to get done as he walked up to the receptionist at the front desk.

“Good afternoon sir.  Checking in?”

“Yes. A reservation for Mrs. Laura Butler?” Bucky placed the bags down on the ground and fished his wallet from his pocket.  “And another reservation under Bucky Barnes.”

“Your rooms are all set.  Mrs. Butler is room number 305, and Mr. Barnes in room 307.” She handed Bucky the room keys. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“No, that would be-“ A loud clang interrupted him.  Quickly spinning around, he saw Steve frantically trying to collect contents of one of his many bags, scattered across the floor.  Taking a deep breath, he took the room keys from the receptionist and gather the bags at his feet.

“Thank you for your help, Ms..”

 “Judy! Call me Judy.”

“Thank you Judy.” Bucky smiled at her, going over to collect Laura. 

“Ma’am?  I’ll take you to your room.  Right this way.”

Bucky quickly checked Laura’s room, before leaving her to unpack.

“I’ll be at your door tomorrow morning at seven o’clock to bring you to the public office.” Bucky told Laura as he walked to the door. “If there are any problems, my room is 307.”

Laura nodded. “Bright and early then.  Well, have a good evening” 

Bucky pulled the door shut and walked down the hall into his room. Slowly shrugging off his jacket, he rotated his shoulder, wincing as a sharp pain shot through the muscle.

“Ugh fuck.” Bucky made his way over to the mini fridge, slightly relieved to find an ice pack in the freezer.  Using an ace bandage to strap on the pack, Bucky was just about to sit down when there was a knock at the door.  Now extremely annoyed, as well as in pain, he paced over to the door and flung it open.

“Steve?”


End file.
